


Not Quite Norman Rockwell

by DiNovia



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 21:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20021671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiNovia/pseuds/DiNovia
Summary: For Onehellagaykid for the Christmas in July Supersantafemslash Exchange.Prompt was: first holiday together as a family, Cat brings work along, Kara gets annoyed.





	Not Quite Norman Rockwell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Onehellagaykid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehellagaykid/gifts).



Many pithy style pieces throughout the years had described Cat Grant as “being in her element,” something Cat had always taken as proof of her command of any situation. Whether she was walking down the red carpet or going toe-to-toe with a room full of white male legislators of a certain age, it was important Cat looked poised. Prepared. Professional. And if it seemed effortless to the onlookers, gawkers, and hangers-on, well, so much the better. It wasn’t, but they didn’t need to know that, and whether it was a touch of the flu or a pedestrian case of imposter syndrome, she had always managed to conceal it with a practiced sleight of hand.

Not so today. 

She looked up at Eliza Danvers’ stately gray Midvale farmhouse from her vantage point in the driveway below, noting the pop of the white trim, the expanse of a second-story balcony that easily traversed more than half the length of the home, and the quaking in her gut.

Carter stood next to her, shading his eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sunshine. He pointed to something on the balcony and grinned, all white teeth and buzzing excitement. Cat wished she had her son’s ease at this moment, that all she felt was that same excitement, but her nerves had a much deeper, more grown-up origin.

When Kara had suggested attending this Thanksgiving dinner months ago, Cat had been both distracted and charmed at the same time. It had been easy to say yes, bathed as they had been in the newness of their relationship. A simple yes had put a smile on Kara’s face for weeks and Cat could find no fault in that. 

As the promised trip crept closer, though, the charm had begun to flake away like cheap gilt, letting other darker emotions peek through. Worry. Doubt. Self-consciousness. 

Oh, she’d met Eliza before, and Alex, too. They’d all had dinner together at some impressive National City establishment or other where Cat had been able to hide her discomfiture behind the handiness of her celebrity. There had been no time to worry or doubt while the multitudes had fawned and glittered around them throughout the evening. Now, though…

Now, Cat was the guest and homey, bucolic Thanksgivings were anathema to her. She couldn’t remember a single holiday growing up that didn’t involve months of planning and servants in livery. It was as if her mother, the formidable Katherine Grant, used formal affairs as a type of spackling paste, hoping to fill the cracks in her heart left by her husband’s untimely death. After that terrible year, Thanksgiving became increasingly more elaborate and less intimate. Metropolis’ social elite fought for the invitation like sharp-tongued gladiators in a sandy pit, not one among them qualified to give thanks of any kind. 

Cat had been frankly relieved to put the whole charade behind her during her ill-fated marriage to Carter’s father. Two Type-A hyper-achievers didn’t have time for long-winded formal affairs, not when there were media empires to build and hedge funds to manage, and the two cases of good wine Cat sent to her mother every year as consolation seemed like a fair price to pay for her freedom. 

Then, when her marriage was finally over and Carter’s father had moved away, Thanksgivings were either small, quiet evenings (when she had Carter) or lonely and forgotten November nights (when Carter was with his father). Never had they been filled with anything promised in those Norman Rockwell paintings everyone loved so much. 

That appeared to be changing today, much to Cat’s chagrin. She wasn’t ready.

“You can go up to the house, you know,” said Kara, nudging Cat with her hip. “Eliza’s expecting us. It’s not as if we’re just showing up out of the blue.”

“The bags…” Cat gestured weakly at the trunk of the car and Kara waved her off.

“I’ll get them,” she promised. “You and Carter go on up. Alex and Maggie are probably already shouting at the football game.” She glanced up at her childhood home and grinned wistfully. “I can practically smell the turkey from here.”

Carter snagged his backpack out of the back seat and tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “C’mon, Mom! The faster we get inside, the faster we get snacks. And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

Cat rolled her eyes tolerantly, but let herself be drawn up the driveway. “When are you not? Honestly, had I known, I would have named you Hoover instead of Carter.”

“Haha,” said Carter, rolling his own eyes. 

As they reached the stairs up to the porch, the front door opened and Carter broke away from Cat to rush ahead, taking the steps two at a time.

“Eliza!”

Eliza hugged the young man tightly. “Carter,” she said, smiling as she pulled away. “I’m so glad you could come.” She looked him over with discerning blue eyes. “You’re taller,” she announced finally. “At least two inches since the last time I saw you.”

Carter blushed. “Not _that_ much,” he said, pleased. “It’s only been a few months.”

“Regardless, I bet you’re starving, yes? My girls always were at your age.” Eliza laughed when he nodded eagerly. “Go on then. You’ll hear Alex and Maggie in the den. I’m never sure if all that yelling means their team is winning or losing.” She shook her head. “In any case, they have the market cornered on snacks, so get some before they’re gone.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Carter, and he tore into the house as if he’d known it all his life.

Eliza chuckled after him, then turned her gaze on Cat Grant hovering at the edge of the porch, watching Carter go with misty, unguarded eyes. As soon as she became aware of Eliza’s scrutiny, Cat shuttered the emotion away and took the final step into Eliza’s domain, holding out her hand in greeting.

“Eliza. Thank you for opening your home to a pair of Thanksgiving orphans.” The forced lightness in Cat’s voice did not go unnoticed. “It's very kind of you.”

Eliza took Cat’s hand and squeezed it warmly before leaning in to surprise Cat with a quick buss on the cheek. “Nonsense!” she admonished. “You’re both welcome anytime. Surely you must know that.”

Kara bounding up the stairs with the luggage saved Cat from an embarrassingly unprepared reply. “Hi, Eliza!” she said brightly, giving her foster mother a quick kiss on the temple as she shouldered her way through the door. “Be right back! I wanna take these upstairs.”

“You know the way,” muttered Eliza after her, shaking her head. “Cat, come inside and let me get you something to drink. I’m sure you’re punchy after that long car ride. I know I would be.”

Cat followed Eliza into the house and looked up the staircase briefly, wondering if she should go after Kara. Then a small voice in the back of her head said, _“Could you stop? We’re having dinner with Kara’s family, not defusing a bomb. There are no wrong moves here.”_

“A drink would be great,” she said, letting Eliza lead the way. 

They passed the den just as the room erupted in disappointed groans. 

“That’s the last interception I can take, Rodgers!” shouted Alex, throwing a handful of popcorn at the big screen TV. “You suck!”

“Yeah! Do better, Rodgers!” added Carter disdainfully. Cat was certain her son didn’t know one thing about football and was just reacting to Alex’s dismay, but that fact seemed lost on the women in the room. Alex’s playful ruffling of Carter’s hair after his outburst lit him up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July and Cat couldn’t help but smile. 

“They’ll be like that for hours yet,” said Eliza wearily. “Until I pull them out of there to set the table or until the tryptophan sets in and they’re all snoring the afternoon away.” She turned at the end of the hall, which opened into a large, beautifully-appointed kitchen. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the bar stools that stood like sentinels along the curve of her marble island. She opened her side-by-side. “I have an iced lemongrass green tea I think you’ll like,” she said. “And Kara made sure I had some of your favorite sparkling water on hand, too,” she added, winking. “What can I get you?”

“Tea,” said Cat, smiling both at the wink and at the thoughtfulness that had inspired it. While Eliza puttered, Cat inhaled deeply, taking in the heavenly smell of roasting meat with a fruity background scent that - if she was lucky - might be a berry pie. “Everything smells wonderful, Eliza.”

“Oh, I’ve hardly started,” she said, sliding a glass of pale green iced tea to Cat across the counter. “The turkey’s only been in for about four hours so far, and those are the last of the pies you're smelling. I made two pumpkin and a chocolate pecan earlier.” Her forehead wrinkled a bit as she mentally ran through what was left to do. “I still have all the side dishes to prep and make - though it’ll go a lot faster now that Kara's here.” She grinned and waggled her fingers. “Super hands, you know.”

 _“You don’t know the half of it,”_ thought Cat wolfishly, but refrained from sharing the thought. Instead, she made an uncharacteristic offer. “I’m happy to help, too. If an extra pair of hands might be of use.”

“They would be welcome,” said Eliza, smiling warmly. Just then, Kara slid across the wood floor on her stocking feet, docking perfectly next to Cat’s stool and slipping an arm around Cat’s waist.

“Everything’s unpacked,” she said, dropping a light kiss on Cat’s cheek and smiling softly when Cat nuzzled a tiny bit closer. “I thought I could take you on a tour before I start my to-do list.” She turned a cheeky grin on her foster mother. “I always have one.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so useful, Kara,” said Eliza airily, before winking again. “Go on and have your tour. It’ll take me a while to get things ready—” A discrete _ding_ interrupted her. “And I have pies ready to come out of the oven.” She looked back at the women just in time to see the end of a particularly sweet kiss. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty to do when you two lovebirds come back.”

Cat hoped the heat in her cheeks wasn’t too bright and said nothing. Kara ignored Eliza completely and pulled Cat off her stool. 

“There’s so much I want to show you,” she began as she guided Cat back down the hallway toward the staircase. Before they disappeared entirely though, Kara shot a glance over her shoulder at her foster mother, mouthing a quick but heartfelt _thank you_.

Eliza just waved back.

—-

By the time they were an hour into Eliza’s to-do list, Cat’s nerves had settled. She sat at the island again, shelling peas into a yellow enamel colander, and listened to Kara and her foster mother bicker lightly back and forth about how Kara’s potato peeling skills could only be considered rustic or about Eliza’s unrelenting perfectionism.

By the time the entire family was seated at the table for dinner, Cat’s nerves had all but disappeared. She felt at ease here now, in a way she never had before - particularly in someone else’s home. Even the trite and corny Danvers family tradition of going around the table to share something each person was thankful for didn’t set her teeth on edge the way she’d expected it to, and she found herself able to participate genuinely.

By the time they were through their third game of Settlers of Catan, though, Cat’s nerves were back, but this time for an entirely different reason. She realized she was comfortable. Serene. In her element. Here, with Kara’s family, in a holiday tableau she had no business being a part of, Cat had discovered a profound sense of belonging which, frankly, scared the hell out of her.

Accustomed as she was to cold, austere, and even lonely holidays, this one, filled with warmth and good-natured teasing, with teamwork and games and simple, hearty food, had set Cat on her ass. And like an Irishman drunk on good whisky, she felt both joy and melancholy at the same time. Why would she want this? How had it taken so long to find it?

Those questions swirled like a Tilt-a-Whirl in her head and when she saw a chance to slip away from their latest game, she took it, wanting to be alone for a little while. To get her bearings. To assess the situation. She excused herself vaguely and headed upstairs with the sounds of the game trailing after her.

Cat closed the sky-blue door to Kara’s childhood bedroom and leaned heavily on it, trying to clear her head. Why did she want this - this slice of Norman Rockwell normalcy - so badly? Better yet, why did it feel so right? She’d soaked up the whole Folger’s commercial sentimentality of it all like a dry sponge in deep water. It wasn’t like her. It wasn’t anything like what she thought she wanted for herself.

Until….

Until Kara. 

Until Kara had burst right out of that cardigan-wrapped shell one fateful late-night editing session when the hour had made them both a little giddy, a little lax. Kara’s fingertips had brushed against Cat’s knee while handing her the latest layout, sending a jolt of electricity through them both. Their eyes had locked, but Kara hadn’t pulled away, and all that longing between them, all those desperate desires and missed chances, had simply boiled over into one perfect kiss.

Cat realized, albeit belatedly, that she’d been lost that very moment. 

How could she ever go back to how it had been before, knowing now how soft Kara’s lips were and how earnest her devotion?

It was as simple and as impossible as explaining the difference between dark and light. Before that moment, Cat had been living in the shadows, in a self-inflicted fantasy-world of what her life should look like. After that moment, well, everything changed, including the angles, the vectors, the planes of her desires. There was light everywhere she looked. Light embedded so deeply in Kara’s cells it lifted her off the ground!

Of course, she wanted this! Exactly this!

The problem was that she didn’t know if Kara wanted it, too.

Feeling a headache coming on, Cat retreated into the comfort of her own shell, the one she’d perfected after years and years of hard, cold boundaries. After all, the accepted antidote for chaos was control, wasn’t it?

She disengaged her phone from the charging cord and opened her email app, scanning the most recent hundred or so for a distraction that would help her get her ship back on course.

“That’ll do,” she said, spying one with a subject line entirely in all caps Italian. Fifteen minutes later, she was hanging up with Vittorio at her office in Milan after a terse conversation. She was just sighing with relief when she caught sight of Kara standing in the doorway.

The light was gone.

Well, not entirely. Cat shuddered to think what it might take to darken Kara’s light completely. 

Instead, Kara was a storm of disappointment and hurt feelings, of expectations dashed, of promises broken.

“You said you wouldn’t,” she whispered, and her voice was terribly flat. That changed when the tears welled in her darkening eyes. “You promised! Our first holiday together. You said you wouldn’t bring work.”

Horror and shame bubbled up in Cat’s chest, making it hard to breathe, to speak. “Kara—” she began hoarsely, but Kara shook her head, not wanting to hear excuses.

“Save it for someone who cares,” she spat, and then she was gone. It happened so fast, Cat never saw the blur.

—-

Used to the whooshing of her special child, Eliza called out when Kara sped through the kitchen, but Kara didn’t stop.

Seconds later, Alex bolted into the room. “Kara just banged through two screen doors. What’s going on?”

Eliza shrugged. “She went upstairs to check on Cat a few minutes ago and then this. Lover’s spat?”

Alex looked at the ceiling and scowled. She had a feeling she knew at least the gist of the argument and she damn sure knew where Kara had gone.

“Probably. And I probably know what it’s about.” She looked out the back of the house and into the darkness, cursing under her breath. “Is there any chocolate pecan pie left, Mom?” she asked.

Eliza pulled two wet forks from the dish drainer, rooted around in the fridge for the whole pie she’d hidden earlier, hoping it would make it to breakfast, and handed all three to Alex without a word.

—-

As awkward as it was to climb a peg ladder with a pie in one hand, Alex somehow managed it, and she ducked inside the ridiculously small treehouse Jeremiah Danvers had made for Kara shortly after she’d first arrived. Alex was too old for a treehouse at that point, but Kara liked to have somewhere to go when the whole Earth thing got to be too much. Somewhere nearby but separate. Somewhere she could just be.

She wasn’t surprised to find Kara here now, knees pulled to her chest, tears drying on her jeans. A small LED lantern and some twinkle lights were the only sources of illumination.

“Figured I’d find you here,” she said by way of greeting. Alex set the pie on the rough-hewn floor and pushed it further inside so she could crawl the rest of the way in. “As you can see, Mom sent pie.” She reached inside her leather jacket and fished out her contribution to the snack. “I brought forks.”

Kara turned her head so Alex couldn’t see her face. “I’m not hungry,” she muttered, voice muffled by the sleeves of her sweater.

“Hell, neither am I, Kar, but I’m having some of this pie.” Alex scoffed as if the idea of not eating the pie was even a remote possibility. “We barely get slivers of it as it is, what with it being your favorite.”

Kara didn’t answer and kept her face turned toward the wall. 

Alex shrugged and tucked one of the forks back in its pocket. She broke the caramelized-sugar crust right in the center, like a creme brulee, and scooped out a bite, humming with a deep appreciation as the overly sweet treat hit her tongue. She finished that bite, then another, then finally cleared her throat.

“So…lemme guess. The ‘no work on holiday’ pact was broken, of course by Cat, and you’re sitting out here in your treehouse all bent out of shape about it instead of thinking about what might have caused Cat to open her phone in the first place.” Alex shoveled another bite of pie into her mouth. “Close?”

Kara didn’t answer yet again, but after a minute, she turned, confusion rumpling her forehead.

“What do you mean?”

Alex sighed. “This isn’t my first rodeo on this subject, Kara. It’s not even my second. Between Dad having to build you your own little hideaway when the Danvers clan got to be too much for you and Maggie freaking out and nearly breaking up with me after _our_ first Thanksgiving here, it’s practically a given Cat would have her moment in the sun, so to speak.” She ate another scoopful of the pie. “Am I right? She broke the ‘no work’ pact because she was feeling a little out of her depth?”

“I don’t know,” said Kara softly.

“Did you ask? Did you let her explain herself?”

“I - no. I just left.” Kara’s face reddened with shame and she looked at the floor.

Alex sighed again.

“Well, from what little I know about Cat’s personal life before you and she became a thing, I’d say it was a possibility. Cold, unfeeling mother? One disastrous marriage? Type-A CEO with no time for frivolity?” She snorted, finding a grim humor in it all. “Then she starts dating National City’s own Pollyanna of the Skies who drops her in the middle of Mom’s Magnificent Midvale Thanksgiving Extravaganza. Who wouldn’t freak out under those circumstances?”

“But she broke her promise, Alex. She said she wouldn’t bring work.”

“As if the Queen of All Media can hide from it? It follows her. Hell, it _stalks_ her!” Alex tossed her fork onto what was left of the pie and shook her head. “She didn’t bring it, Kara; she succumbed to it. It’s her coping mechanism - the place she feels most in control. Maybe she just needed a couple of minutes to get herself together and yelling at some flunky for ten minutes helped that process along.”

“But—”

“Look, we’re not going to solve this out here in your treehouse, pie or no pie.” Alex squeezed one of Kara's hands. “Go talk to her. Better yet, listen.”

“She’s probably mad,” whispered Kara, hunkering down into her knees again. 

Alex shook her head. “She’s human. She makes mistakes. Chances are, she realizes she’s made one. Chances are, she’s willing to forgive the one you made. Right?”

“I guess,” said Kara hesitantly.

“Give her a chance to explain herself, Kara. I promise you, it’ll be okay.” Alex grinned. “You two are good together. You can get through this. Maggie and I did.”

“Okay.” Kara didn’t look confident about that decision, but she was, at least, determined to see it through.

“Okay,” said Alex, relieved. She reached out and snatched the pie tin before Kara noticed. “And as payment for my good advice, I’m claiming this entire pie. See ya!” 

“Hey!” protested Kara, but she was too late. Alex was already gone.

\---

Kara’s apology to Cat ended up with tears. Lots of them, filled with remorse and contrition, that Cat wiped away with her thumbs while holding Kara’s face in her hands.

Cat’s apology to Kara ended up with kisses. Lots of them, filled with tenderness and renewal, that Kara deepened sweetly until Cat moaned.

Afterward, the two of them went back downstairs, returning to the fold, welcomed back into the normalcy as if nothing had happened. They all piled into the den to watch TV, stuffing themselves with more pie, complaining about ill-fitting clothing and bad Christmas movies and the threat of rain.

Cat tucked herself into Kara’s side and Carter sprawled along the length of their couch, his head pillowed on his mother’s lap. A comfortable silence blanketed the room, broken only by the voices on the flickering screen, and Cat rested her head on Kara’s shoulder, content.

She realized she had much more to be thankful for than she’d let on during the ritual at dinner, not the least of which was this expanding family around her, and she made two decisions on the spot.

The first was to see if she could wrangle an invitation to Eliza’s Christmas dinner, something she thought wouldn’t be too difficult, all things considered.

The second was to bring along that little box from Tiffany’s she’d stashed away six months ago.

It was time.

\---

_fin_


End file.
